Dear Diagnosis is a weekly letter by me, Lea, 32, navigating breast cancer — and writing about all of it.
In Issue #013 of Dear Diagnosis, I write about going back to work full-time the same week as a family funeral — and the online conference, days later, that showed me just how unready I really was. It's a letter about cognitive fog, therapeutic part-time return, and a breast cancer scare that arrived before I'd finished healing from the first one. I talk about my surgery in a previous issue.
If you're new here, start with Issue #001 — the scan that started everything.
ISSUE #013 · August 9th, 2026
I went back to work on the same Monday as a relative’s funeral.
On returning too soon, the fog nobody warns you about, and the conference that changed everything.
| Why I went back to work too soon after cancer
It was the funeral of a distant cousin of my mother. I didn't want to go to the burial. So I went back to work instead.
I went back quietly, in remote work. Full-time, because nobody had mentioned the option of a part-time therapeutic return. So I just went back — head down, at full speed. I didn't know at that point how far I was from being psychologically healed.
Monday passed. I struggled to concentrate and follow what was happening — but I held on. I told myself that was normal.
| What I learned at a conference on returning to work after cancer
Tuesday evening I attended an online conference, specifically about returning to work after cancer.
They talked about therapeutic part-time return. About Oncogite — a digital tool for retraining your neurons. About all kinds of systems I'd never heard of. I took careful notes. I started to realise I'd perhaps not followed the right steps, and that I'd been a little rushed — as several people close to me had told me. But I was too stubborn to listen to them.
At the end of the conference — which started in the evening and I think ran until 10pm — a woman shared her testimony. It touched me deeply. Moved me to tears. I recognised myself in her. She said she'd felt capable of going back full-time, because at part-time she wouldn't know how to manage. In fact, that was exactly how I'd been thinking. Part-time? I can't do that. She said she'd taken a big hit, and now she could only put herself first and take care of herself.
The next day, I couldn't work. Instead, I signed up for Oncogite — for my neurons. I took a workshop that same day. So much for work. This was more important.
I also looked into skills assessments. In short, I was doing everything except work. I didn't have the headspace for it.
| A breast cancer scare during recovery: what happened next
I had to go to my physio that morning. While waiting for her, I saw a leaflet about breast cancer detection. It was October — Pink October, the breast cancer awareness month. I read one of the symptoms listed. I had the impression I had it. I had a mark on my right breast. Like the one on the poster. I panicked. I tried to get an appointment with the radiologist as soon as possible to check.
At the same time I mentioned it to my physio. She felt a ball. Same as me. I cried right there in the consultation. When we were doing the exercises, I ran into Lisa — a woman who'd had a left breast operation a few weeks before me, and who'd just been told there was cancer in the right breast too. I panicked even more.
At that point, I was not at all supported psychologically and I was still very fragile. My brain was spiralling into catastrophic scenarios.
I managed to get an emergency appointment with the radiologist. Sophie also contacted my gynaecologist so I could see her quickly. I was panicking so much I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to have my other breast removed to reduce the risk of another breast cancer. I realised I was not psychologically stable. I couldn't manage my emotions or rationalise my thoughts.
I'd gone back to work too soon. I talked to my manager about it. I went back on sick leave — and this time I genuinely wanted to take care of myself.
| The words a colleague said that I still think about
I remember having a discussion with a colleague, Sam. She told me to take care of myself, that what had happened to me was not a small thing. It did me good to hear it from an outside person, with so much kindness. I had tears in my eyes. She had the benevolence towards me that I wasn't giving myself.
To be continued next Sunday.
Lea
A free digital platform recommended by oncology teams in France to help with 'chemo brain' — the cognitive fog that affects memory, concentration and word retrieval. Even without chemotherapy, hormonal treatment and the trauma of diagnosis can produce similar effects. Worth knowing about before you go back to work, not after. https://app.oncogite.com/
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What is Dear Diagnosis?
Dear Diagnosis is a weekly newsletter written by Lea, a 32-year-old woman living with breast cancer. One honest letter a week, every Sunday. Raw, personal, and free. It's not medical advice. It's what a friend would say if she were going through it and wasn't too scared to tell you the truth.
Who is Dear Diagnosis for?
For women who just found out, who had or is still fighting against their breast cancer. For women six months into treatment who need to hear that someone else is going through it. For the partners and sisters and best friends who don’t know what to say. For anyone still needs to process what happened. For everyone who feels alone during this difficult time. Join the community and let’s help each other all around the world.
What happens in Issue #013?
I go back to work full-time, the same week as a funeral I didn't attend. Days later, a conference on returning to work after cancer makes me realise how unready I actually was. Then, at a physio appointment, I find something that scares me — and finally agree to slow down?
Is Dear Diagnosis written by a doctor?
No. Lea is not a doctor. Dear Diagnosis is a personal account, not medical advice. If you've just been diagnosed, please speak with your oncologist. If you're looking for peer support, you can write to Lea by replying to the newsletter, or look for patient organisations near you.
How do I subscribe to Dear Diagnosis?
You can subscribe for free at deardiagnosis.co. A new letter arrives every Sunday.